Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page A

quickly pulled away from the window. It was the
Indian walking past. He was tall, and his stride
was long, but she caught a quick glimpse of his
face before he moved away. She gasped at the
singular impression of a man tortured in mind
and soul.
    Did Indians have the same feelings as white
people? She had always thought of them as
completely alien, needing no one, raiding and
marauding, killing and scalping their enemies
just for the sport of it.
    The Indian had removed his coat and unbut toned the collar of his white shirt, which opened
to reveal a smooth, bronze chest. Again, she
was struck by his handsomeness and the power
he exuded.

    She watched as he released his hair from a
black cord, and it fell dark and heavy to his
shoulders. Makinna's heart began beating wildly.
Never had she seen such a man. There was
something thrilling about him that captured her
attention, yet at the same time something
dangerous and frightening. More than mere
handsomeness, there was a wild, savage beauty
about him, a strength of spirit that seemed to
reach out to her.
    She closed her eyes to steady her heartbeat.
She wondered about his life. He was unlike
anything she imagined an Indian to be. His
diction was aristocratic, and he had a superior
manner about him. His expensively cut suit
would have been at home on the finest plantation
in Louisiana.
    It seemed strange that he chose to dress like a
white man, and stranger still that he was
traveling on the Butterfield stage.
    Feeling guilty for watching him, Makinna
moved away from the window and prepared to
wash the dust from her face. But her thoughts
kept returning to the Indian.
    What, exactly, was his story?

     

Makinna recognized the voices of the station
manager and his wife just outside her window.
Mrs. Browning's voice was high-pitched with
indignation. "I don't care if he is a Butterfield
passenger. I told him, and I'm telling you, I ain't
gonna serve no Injun. It's too much for anyone
to expect. Land sakes, Jack, we could all be
scalped in our sleep!"
    Her husband replied in an irritated tone.
"Nonetheless, he gets hungry like everyone
else, and he deserves to be fed. He seems
harmless enough, Edna. Almost civilized."
    "He'll not eat at my table, and that's that! You
didn't see the way he looked at me when I told
him where we stood-I swear, Jack, he's think ing up something terrible to do to us during the
night."

    "It does seem kinda strange to see a savage
pretendin' like he was a white man. What the
hell kind of Indian is he, anyway? I've never
seen one so tall, or with his sharp, clear features.
I wouldn't mind askin' him a few questions to
find out what he's about."
    "Well, if you ask me, he's up to no good. You
tell him he's to sleep in the barn, and I want him
gone tomorrow."
    Makinna approached her window in time to
watch Mr. and Mrs. Browning walk toward the
barn. Her gaze went to the Indian, who had
melted into the shadows, almost becoming a part
of them. She realized he'd heard every word the
Brownings had uttered, and she felt a rush of
pity for him.
    Without pausing to think, she headed out of
her bedchamber. The main room was crudely
furnished with a long wooden table, a potbellied stove, and dirt floors. Mr. Rumford and
Mr. Carruthers were sitting at the table talking amiably, their empty plates in front of
them.
    They both looked up when she approached.
Makinna realized she had forgotten to put on her
veil, but she was too angry to care about that at
the moment.
    She went directly to the table, found an
empty tin plate, and begin spooning beans into it. She speared a chunk of meat and plopped it
onto the plate, then added a slice of cornbread to
the mound.

    Mr. Carruthers nodded at the heaping plate.
"You must be hungry, Mrs. Hillyard."
    "It's not for me," she answered sharply.
    "Didn't think a young, pretty thing like you
could eat that much in one sitting," Mr. Rumford
observed in a jovial if